


Ghost Hands

by MercuryStardust



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Ficlet, Foolishness, Humming, Humour, M/M, Shenanigans, TAG ALL THE THINGS, Trying to be funny, boys almost kissing, fan fiction love, ghosty hands, tropetatsic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:14:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4207512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryStardust/pseuds/MercuryStardust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel licks his lips and looks up. His lips look pretty chapped, but they are surprisingly soft. What Dean doesn't know is that Castiel actually uses liberal amounts of chapstick. His lips are as soft as angels' wings.</p><p>Dean sighs as he ghosts his hands along the angel's arms, never quite touching the undoubtedly attractive arms that lay underneath the sleeves of the trench coat.</p><p>"God dammit, Dean! Stop ghosting your hands and touch me already!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I said this in a http://www.reddit.com/r/fandomnatural/ thread: "I always wonder what the hell is up with all the humming, too. And ghosting hands.
> 
> Gonna write a fic called Ghost Hands. For legal reasons there will be no Spooky Ghost Fingers(C)."
> 
> Then I wrote this. I apologize in advance.

Dean creeps up behind Castiel and presses his nose into the angel’s hair. Inhaling deeply, Dean runs a hand through the angel’s dark tresses until it is thoroughly mussed.

“Dean… what are you doing?” Castiel asks, licking his lips. His voice is low and rough as if he had been gargling with gravel. That produces quite an unpleasant image in Castiel's mind and he wonders if perhaps he should see a doctor, because he probably has nodes.

“I’m smelling you, Cas.” Dean explains, “You always smell so good. Like cinnamon or happiness. You smell like rainbows and sunshine and even lightning. And something _I can’t quite explain_ – something so distinctly _Cas_. Anyway. You smell _delicious_.”

“I do admit that I find your sniffing oddly comforting and even arousing.” Cas hums to himself.

“ _I know you do, Cas. I know you do_.” Dean sighs as his hands ghost down the sleeves of the angel’s trench coat.

“Why are you italicizing everything you say? It is rather... unnerving.” Castiel hums again because humming reminds him of buzzing. Buzzing like bees; Castiel likes bees.

“I italicize things when I feel them very _intensely_.” Dean hums into the angel’s ear, his hands now ghosting along Castiel’s torso growing ever closer to his naughty bits, “The _italics_ convey how _intense I am_.”

Dean suddenly spins Castiel around to face him; their bodies flush together. Their faces are flushing, too. They stare intensely into each others eyes, an unspoken staring contest having started between them and neither will yield because they are both sore losers. Dean feels himself going a bit cross-eyed.

“Cas, has anyone ever told you that you have the bluest eyes in the world?” Dean hums, stroking his fingers along Castiel’s ever-present stubble. “They are bluer than the deepest ocean. Bluer than the clearest skies on the sunniest days. They are what all shades of blue aspire to be.”

“Your vocabulary is improving, Dean.” Castiel sighs, resting his forehead against Dean’s. He loves being close to the human, but all this hand ghosting is getting annoying.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Dean breathes. “I’ve been reading more. I pretend that Kurt Vonnegut Jr. is my favourite author, but really… it’s _Stephanie Meyer_. I like it when my vampires _sparkle_.”

Castiel licks his lips and looks up into Dean’s eyes (which are greener than the greenest fields). Castiel's lips look pretty chapped, but they are surprisingly soft. What Dean doesn't know was that Cas uses liberal amounts of chapstick; his lips are as soft as angels' wings.

Dean sighs as he ghosts his hands along the angel's arms, never quite touching the undoubtedly attractive arms that lay underneath the sleeves of the trench coat. Despite his deepest desires, Dean cannot keep himself from ghosting the touch of his hands over his angel's body.

"God dammit, Dean! Stop ghosting your hands and touch me already!" Castiel hums in a very impatient and demanding way.

Sam suddenly swaggers into the sitting room - thoroughly enjoying the alliteration of his actions - and freezes when he sees his brother and Castiel in a very compromising position consisting of ghosting hands and flush bodies. Somehow the two contradictory actions are working simultaneously.

"OH MY GOD DEAN! QUIT GHOSTING YOUR HANDS AND GET A ROOM!" Sam shouts, although he is secretly pleased that Dean has finally admitted his feelings for the angel and hopes that they will quit all their staring competitions. He always feels so left out.

Castiel grabs Dean by the shoulders and growls, dragging him down the bunker hallway, "He's right, Dean. All this hand ghosting is nonsense and frankly it is getting on my last heavenly nerve. Sam, I am taking your brother into his bedroom where we will know each other _in the biblical sense._ I suggest you play some loud music for several hours."

 

Sam stares after them amused, "I ship it."

 

**THE END.......................................???????????**

 

 


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